


war against the world

by kay_emm_gee



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exes, F/M, Pirates, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6038038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake wasn't always a famed pirate, known for his ruthlessness and fearsome rule over the blue-green seas of the New World. He used to be someone quiet different to Clarke Griffin, but that was years ago. She isn't the soft-hearted girl she used to be either--more steel than anything now.</p><p>So when this former flame comes back into her life, she sees him only as a threat to the precarious peace she's built in her smugglers' community. But then he makes her an offer that would give her home the stability she has fought so hard for, and she can't turn him down. As they set off to find a treasure beyond their wildest dreams, both Clarke and Bellamy begin to let their guards down, finding maybe despite the years of separation, they can salvage some of their former selves and, with it, their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Black Sails, and I just had to write this. Trying to get it out as fast as possible while inspiration is still strong :)

**p r o l o g u e**

* * *

 

The tavern was loud at this late hour, boisterous yells and taunting whistles and raucous singing from men and women alike pouring out of its thrown-open windows. The sounds spilled onto the humid, cobblestone streets just like the golden glow of lamplight from within. Still, Clarke could barely hear the noise over the racing of her furious, enraged heartbeat.

She threw open the tavern door with a bang. The cracking noise was enough to startle half the patrons, but it was her furious shout that quieted the rest.

“Where in the _hell_ is Bellamy Blake?” She screamed, hands fisted into her skirts as she strode forward.

Only dead, sticky silence filled the room. Clarke’s gaze darted from smuggler to pirate to server to fighter. Some stared at her in fear and shock, others in cruel amusement and sneering pleasure (she’d deal with them later, quietly, when no one was looking). Still, she didn’t say another word, no one did, until a soft rustle and a hoarse chuckle from the back of the room broke the stalemate.

“Long time, no see, princess.”

There he was: Bellamy Blake, straightening up from leaning against the far wall. Dressed in layers of sturdy but salt-caked fabric and leather than emphasized his strength, he moved with pride and surety, a far cry from the soft boy she remembered. This Bellamy was hard man with scars on his face and cold amusement glittering in his eyes, slouched posture and arms slung casually around two pretty girls. He was carrying two guns at his hips and more knives than she could count, or probably see. For a moment, her feet wouldn’t move because even after all this time, she thought if Bellamy ever did come back–to this island, to _her_ –she would at least still recognize him.

She had been wrong. He wasn’t Bellamy, her best-kept secret and her first love. This was the rebel sea king she had heard so much about, the ruthless pirate who took and took just because he could.

 _It is better_ , she told herself as she walked forward with precise steps. Everyone watched her, watched him, watched _them._ They are all sailors, familiar with the sea and the warning signs of a storm brewing. _It is better this way._

Clarke was merely an inch from his smirking face when she finally let her anger break to the surface and let her hand fly towards his face. Instead of connecting with his cheek, though, his hand caught her wrist, yanking her around until he had her hands pinned against the wall above her head, his strong body pressing into hers.

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” He muttered. Her eyes couldn’t help but trace his features, sharp and beautiful as ever. She hated that she still knew the slope of his cheeks and the pattern of his freckles so well. Four years, and she couldn’t erase the memory of him, not even the fine details. So instead she chose to focus on the anger creasing his forehead, the bitterness and maybe just a bit of disappointment twisting his lips into a frown. It fueled her own fire, one she had been ready to let burn since the night he left so long ago.

“It didn’t have to be,” she spat back, resenting the way his body heat still made her shiver and want. “But you were the one who tortured a good man for no reason. You’re lucky I got to Lincoln when I did, or he might be dead by now.”

“He was treating my sister like–”

“He is in _love_ with your sister, which you would know if you had been here. Or actually asked Octavia instead of being rash, like you always are.”

His expression eased just a bit, surprise flashing across his face. Clarke tipped her chin up smugly, because apparently he hadn’t gotten the full story. _Of course he hadn’t_ , she thought bitterly. _He never did._ Anger overtaking her again, she continued, “I’m still debating granting Trikru their _jus drein, jus daun_ when it comes to you.

A slow, dangerous smile curved onto his face. “But I just got back–so eager to have me gone again?”

“I didn’t miss you when you left the first time, so I frankly don’t care if you stay or leave, as long as you don’t disrupt the peace we’ve spent long and hard building here.”

“So you’re the one who makes the rules now?” He gripped her wrists a little tighter. His eyes were locked right on hers though, intense and less guarded than they had been so far.

Clarke saw her opportunity. Her knee came up, connecting with his crotch, and when his grip on her then loosened, she tore her hands down and pushed him away. He slumped against the wall laughing in a pained way, a brightness in his eyes that seemed too much like the boy she had known and not the man he had become. That little flash had her throat closing up, her heart aching for things to go back to how they had been.

They couldn’t though, so she merely dusted off her skirts and said loudly not just to Bellamy but to the whole tavern, “I don’t make the rules alone. I have people here who help me, who have vowed to stay here and make Arkadia a better place, a port in the storm where we can all survive. If you don’t agree with that, then leave.”

Clarke turned on her heel and walked towards the exit, hating how each of her clicking footsteps pounded along with the beat of her pulse whispering: _we could have been making the rules, you and I, together._

By the time she was at the end of the street, the tavern had resumed its lively cacophony. Even though she told herself not to, she turned around, half-expecting to see a familiar shadow in the doorway, watching her walk away.

The entryway was empty though, devoid of any hint that Bellamy had followed her.

With teary eyes and a steeled spine, she continued walking back home, wondering just when in the hell she was going to stop letting Bellamy Blake disappoint her.


	2. Chapter 2

_Four years earlier..._

The scent of salt and sand wafted on a warm breeze through Clarke’s dark room, and she smiled. Turning over under her sheets, she sighed into her pillow. No matter the season, she always had her window open. She loved the way the damp air clung to her skin, the sound of the waves lulling her to sleep. She loved having the wet and the wild so close to her.

A scraping of fabric on wood and then two soft thumps--feet landing on her floor--came from the direction of the sill. She smiled, still with her eyes closed. There was also another reason she loved keeping her window open.

“Clarke?”

She bit back a giggle, her body humming with anticipation. She loved this pattern of theirs: him entering when the moon was high, her pretending to be asleep.

“Clarke!” His voice wasn’t teasing, like she had expected. It was tense, frantic.

Bellamy was never frantic. Immediately sitting up, Clarke twisted around to glance at him.

His lanky figure was silhouetted from behind by the moonlight, making him a shadow that she couldn’t see much of. Then he moved closer, and she gasped.

“What happened?” She asked, scrambling off her large bed towards him.

He back away from her though, cautious, hands raised. She kept going, her own hands seeking the source of the blood that was smeared all across his white shirt.

“Where are you hurt?”

He swallowed a few times, voice croaking before he finally rasped, “It’s not mine.”

“ _What_?”

He started pacing, running his hands through his hair. “I didn’t know what to do, Clarke. They had her, and they were going to--I didn’t have a choice. And then he came, and he said that if I--he said he would get Octavia free if I did what he asked.”

“Bellamy, tell me what happened!”

Clarke tried to calm him, grab his forearms to make him pause. He just froze under her grip, eyes wild.

“I had to. You have to understand: I had no other choice. It was Octavia or--I had no other choice.”

“What did you do?” she pleaded, gut twisting in dread. The look in his eyes was terrifying, his gaze darting and unfocused, like he was a cornered animal. She lifted her hands against his cheeks, stroking them with her thumb. “Tell me, how can I help?”

That seemed to jolt him back, expression shuttering. “I already have help, and you can’t--I’m not even supposed to be here. He told me not to see you, but I couldn’t leave--”

Clarke flinched. “You’re leaving?”

“I have to,” he insisted, torn. “I have to leave.”

“ _Why_ ,” she insisted, growing less worried and more angry. He wasn’t making any sense.

“Come with me.” The wildness was back in his face as he gripped her waist, pulling her into him. His palms grazed insistently, hotly over her thin nightrail. It was almost like having his palms against her bare skin, and Clarke choked down a groan at the image. Of all they had done in their last few months of secret courtship, that was something they hadn’t done nearly enough of. “You can come with me.”

When he knocked his forehead against hers, eyes closed, she breathed him in: skin, sweat, leather, and cotton. An anxious energy hummed under her palms that were pressed against his chest, his pulse thrumming with a dangerous energy.

“Where are you going?” Her words were quiet, curious but not agreeing. “And is Octavia going with you?”

“I don’t know, but I know I want you with me. And she’s safe--safer here.”

She choked out a laugh, because there he was: her Bellamy, rash but heartfelt.

“So you’re coming?”

She opened her eyes to look into his, heart falling as she realized he thought she was seriously considering his answer.

“Bellamy, I can’t!”

His grip on her waist slackened, lips parting. “Why not?”

“I have a life here! My parents, Wells--besides, how would we support ourselves? And you still haven’t told me why you’re leaving. Maybe it’s not as bad--”

He recoiled from her, expression twisting into something bitter. “It is as bad as I think it is! Do you think I would leave Octavia, leave you otherwise? And if you don’t trust me to support you, then just say so. Not that I could give you the quality of life you’re accustomed to, Your Highness, I think I could damn well manage--”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She shouted, wincing as he did at the sudden jump in volume.

Both of them waited anxiously for a creak or a rustle, letting them know someone had woken. No sound came though other than their unstead, ragged breathing.

“Bellamy, please stay. We can figure something out. We can fix this, whatever you’ve done, together!”

Underneath the bitterness, a flash of longing and regret came. “I can’t stay. I can’t. That’s why you should come with me. You could…”

“I can’t.” Clarke wanted to--god, she wanted to. But she thought of her father, of what he was trying to accomplish here in treating between the people of Trikru and her people of Skaikru, of what they were both trying to accomplish and how much she had left to learn from him. “I’m needed here. You know that.”

She waited for him to make the argument, the one argument that might convince her to pack a bag and slip behind him out the window. If he said he needed her, then she would go.

Except he just stared at her, brow furrowing and jaw clenching. “Of course. I understand.”

Slowly, he backed away towards the window. Incredulous, she chased after him. He was asking something impossible of her and gave her no opportunity to consider her choices. Rash, rash boy.

“Are you ever going to come back?” she asked through gritted teeth as he hoisted himself over the windowsill.

“What do you care, princess?” he replied coldly, looking at her with dead eyes. The blood on his shirt seemed to stand out more than ever, more black than red in the shadowy light. “All you ever needed is right here, isn’t it?”

She tried to respond, but a shocked sob clogged her throat, and he was gone, running across the silver-green yard, too soon to hear her reply.

_But I do need you._

Hating the tears prickling in her eyes, she stepped forward, reaching out hurriedly for the shutters. With a slam, she closed them, breathing heavily in the pitch-black of her room. For a few minutes, she stood there, fighting the urge to cry and impossibly waiting for the soft knock of knuckles on wood that would tell her he was back, he had changed his mind, he wasn’t leaving. Except no sounded echoed beyond the shutters except the wind, and with a breaking heart, she slid the lock closed.

She didn’t sleep that night, pretending to wake up when her mother came into her room with red-rimmed eyes and a palid face.

Theolonius--the governor of the island and her family’s close friend--had been shot in the middle of the night, on his way to the prison where he had been overseeing last-minute intake of prisoners. Clarke felt numb as she listened to her mother describe how she had managed to patch him up, how he had made it through the night.

“They know who did it, sweetheart,” her mother said, sorrow and steel in her voice. “But he’s gone already. Slipped away in the night, so there will be no trial, no justice.”

She knew. She knew before her mother said anything, but she still had to listen, to feign surprise, and shock, and sadness, when Bellamy was blamed for the assassination attempt. No one had known of their courtship, and it would do him more harm now if she revealed it. As she remembered him from the night before--her last memories of him, likely--she wished she could find something to refute the accusation. All her mind could picture though was the blood on his shirt and the wildness in his eyes.

There had been too many witnesses, her mother said, gently because she knew that she and Octavia were friends. They were certain, she said; he had been the one to pull the trigger.

It wasn’t until weeks later she got the full story from Octavia, who had glared at her with angry eyes and spoken through clenched teeth. Aurora had been, unknowingly to Bellamy, using Octavia in her black market business, taking her on deliveries and pickups. They had been caught, and all charged--even Octavia, despite being a minor and having no idea the illegality of her actions. Then suddenly she was freed from arrest by an unknown man, and Bellamy was gone. Both girls could fill in most of the blanks of how those two events, and the governor’s attack, were connected.

“He was so stupid to do it. I would’ve found another way to get free. Did you even try to get him to stay?” Octavia accused. “You could have, you know. You, and your family, could’ve helped me, or him--”

“I tried! But he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.” _He wouldn’t trust me_ **.** “How could I help if I didn’t know what was going on?”

Something bitter crept into her mouth, that sour flavor of her privilege that always stood between them. She sometimes lived up to the princess nickname, she would admit that, but too often Bellamy used it against her like a weapon, a reason to keep her outside his carefully constructed walls.

Finally, this time, there seemed to be more than walls between them. There could be an entire ocean now for all she knew.

“I don’t know where he is,” Octavia relented, her expression softening.

Clarke flashed her a grim smile in thanks for that concession. “Would you tell me if you did? If he asked you not to?”

Octavia just stared at her, jaw working. The motion was so like Bellamy that she had to look away. “It’s alright, I understand.”

“Clarke--”

She turned away from the girl, determined not to let her see her tears. “Don’t be a stranger, alright? If you do get into trouble, I’ll be there for you.”

Octavia hesitated, then quietly responded, “Thank you.”

Clarke didn’t look back as she left the small upstairs apartment where she had spent so many wonderful afternoons with the siblings, feeling more free and herself than she did anywhere else, except maybe the trading post with her father.

The trading post was where her feet carried her, even without thinking, and she managed a smile as she wiped away her tears. There was work to be done, after all. Her father, and this place, needed her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mention of beating/torture at the end of this chapter

Bellamy thought the sand might feel different underneath his boots when he stepped back on the island of Arkadia again. That after four years of sailing and pirating, his feet would make a deeper impression than when he used to run on it when he was younger. It felt just as slippery as always though, as if one sea-soaked gust of wind could blow him right off his unsteady stance. **  
**

He was different, though, and he had the scars, muscles, and fighting skills to prove it. So he just stepped forward, heavy and certain. Three years training under Pike and his pirating crew and then a year in charge of his own ship was more than transformative; it was like being reborn, like an iron blade forged from soot and ash alone. Bellamy wondered if Octavia would even recognize him.

He might not recognize her, now that he thought if it. It had been four years, after all. She at least sounded the same in her monthly letters: energetic, opinionated, full of life. Always had been, and probably always would be.

The dusk-lit harbor was filled with movement, but lazily, like everyone knew it was time to be mooring their ships and heading into town to drink and dally with a pretty guy or girl. A few groups who passed him on the dock already seemed to be indulging, taking large swigs from flasks fastened to their hips. Bellamy grinned, remember how he had always wanted to be one of these skilled sailors growing up. And now he was that, but also so much more.

“All paid up,” Miller said to his right. “We can head in. Monty, Jasper, and Raven said they’d keep an eye on the ship for you.”

“Tell the rest of the crew they’re done for the night,” Bellamy replied, surveying the surrounding crowd carefully even now. They had landed hours ago and no one had batted an eye. Well, some had, but no more than they did at any other smuggling port, because he and his ship were well known now. And even though Arkadia had freed itself from government control two years ago and thus he was likely to be arrested for that mistake of his years ago, someone somewhere might remember him or his name and hold a grudge. “They deserve to have a little fun.”

“So do you, boss,” Miller said with a knowing grin, clapping him on the shoulder. “So do you.”

“Oh, I have plans, don’t you worry.” He chuckled, wondering if his sister would be more excited or pissed that he was surprising her with a visit after so many years away. Necessary but painful, for both of them.  

“Say hi to Octavia for me,” his first mate called back as he sauntered off, starting to whistle at the end.

“Don’t get too drunk! I need you on point tomorrow!” he yelled, grinning as Miller flipped him off.

His grin slipped when he thought of just exactly what he had to do tomorrow. Of what he had to ask favors for, and who those favors had to come from.

Octavia wasn’t the only woman on this island he hadn’t seen in four years whom he also had to visit while he was here.

* * *

 

By the time he reached town, it was dark and he had managed to banish memories of golden hair and stolen kisses. It took him a while to find Octavia’s address, not remembering the cart-lined streets as well as he thought he would. He frowned at her last letter, crumpled and spotted with dried sea water. Then he looked at the building again, from which loud music and drunken yells were echoing out of. Something wasn't right.

When he went inside and asked after Octavia, server and patron alike shrugged, knowing her but not where she was. Finally, one girl with soft features but sharp blades in each hand said she might be down at the cove. The other girls around her exchanged careful glances at that admission, but Bellamy strode off before looks could turn to words. He didn’t have time for whatever gossip surrounded his sister, a girl who had always caused chatter, to his dead mother's dismay, his exasperation, and Octavia's pride.

When he got to the beach, however, he wished he had stopped to listen. Before he stepped out of the trees, he saw two figures--one slender, the other massive--fighting near the rocks. His heart was in his throat as he recognized the braids on the woman, and the tattoos of a Trikru member on the man. He reached for his sword, bracing up against a palm tree to hide and wait for his opening to charge. Octavia let out a sharp cry before he could race forward though, and then she disappeared into the maze of rocks behind her with her attacker following. He swore, racing across the sand to reach them. Only the slightest echo of a cry or a grunt led him onward. Slowly, though, memories of chasing Octavia--and then Clarke--through these winding passages of stone came back to him. He grinned when he realized he was gaining on the Trikru warrior.

It took some careful maneuvering and fast footwork, but with a leap and the element of surprise, the warrior came down with merely a blow to the head and a muffled groan. Bellamy quickly bound his prisoner's wrists, then dragged him to a small copse of trees. Securing his arms between two nearby trunks, he slapped the man awake, grinning darkly when he blinked his eyes open.

“You’re going to wish you never laid a hand on that woman,” Bellamy growled before landing a punch--the first of many--into the man’s gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place just before the prologue, in cast that wasn't clear!


	4. Chapter 4

Clarke groaned and reached for the pistol by her bedside when the knocking started on her door. She raised it, blinking blurrily, and considered shooting regardless of knowing who was outside. It’d be a pity to injure a friend, but this was the first hours’ sleep she’d gotten in more than two days--goddamn Murphy and his idiot friends stirring up shit with Indra’s crew. So in this moment, she didn’t particularly want to deal with whatever trouble was running through the streets of Arkadia now.

“Clarke, get up,” Wells demanded with one last bang. “Octavia’s at the door having a fit. Lincoln’s hurt.”

Immediately she scrambled out of bed, still holding the gun but pointing it at the ground instead. She managed to shrug on a wrap over her nightgown, grab her medical bag, and then wrench the door open.

“Hurry,” Wells said, creases etched into his forehead. “He’s in bad shape.”

With a grimace, she followed her childhood friend down the halls of her house, the one her mother had abandoned along with Thelonious after her father’s death and the crews’ rebellion three years ago. Jake and his openness to working with the crews had been the only thing holding them at bay; with him and the trust he had worked so hard to garner gone in an explosion the governor could never quite explain fully, the smugglers and pirates had no more reason to hold back. They had all but taken the island when Abby and Thelonious left, the latter two baffled as to why their children would want to stay behind. Clarke wasn’t about to let her father’s dream die, however, and Wells wasn’t about to let her stay there alone. Together, with the help of Octavia and her fighting girls, they had managed to keep Trikru and Skaikru from devouring each other entirely in their battle to control the island. They had built a home here, for anyone and everyone--well, everyone willing to say _fuck you_ to the corrupt governments back on the continent by buying, smuggling, and selling whatever they could on the black market. Things were finally looking up--trade was flowing in by the boatload, literally, and even tensions between the crews had calmed, the incident with Murphy non-withstanding.

Clarke only hoped whatever had happened to Lincoln had been a misunderstanding or an accident. They all had worked too long and too hard to make Arkadia the go-to place for pirates of all kinds to call home for it all to go to shit now.

She sucked in a pained breath when she saw the Trikru man, however, covered in blood and blooming bruises as he was.

“Shit, Lincoln,” she hissed, rushing forwards. Hurriedly she pulled out antiseptic and bandages, dabbing at the cuts on his cheeks. “What the hell happened?”

“Misunderstanding.”

Octavia laughed darkly, pacing away from him as if she couldn’t control herself.

“Who did this?” Wells asked, concern and fury lacing his voice.

Lincoln jerked his head in a denying nod. Clarke frowned at him and pulled his face back to her so she could continue cleaning his wounds. She had just about finished, without anyone saying another word, when Octavia spoke again.

“His ribs. Look at his ribs,” Octavia ground out.

Clarke obeyed, swearing out loud as she poked and prodded, realizing they were bruised. Before she could even ask, Wells was running for more bandages, larger ones to wrap with. She worked quickly once he returned, still managing to shoot pointed glances between Octavia and Lincoln while she wrapped. They were going to tell her what had happened, one way or another. Treatment like this of a member of any crew couldn’t go unanswered. There would be hell to pay from _somebody_ , that she would make sure of, otherwise the streets would soon be running with blood from all the crews.

As soon as she had settled Lincoln back into a chair with a groan, Octavia broke.

“It was my brother.”

Clarke froze, and Wells let out an indignant cry.

“Your brother?” He spat. His anger only eased when he glanced at Clarke, sympathy flashing across his face. He had long ago forgiven Bellamy for the shooting, knowing it had been for Octavia and, more importantly, that someone else had been pulling the strings on that attack, someone who they had taken care of not long after the rebellion (who would care about one extra dead body after the street wars, anyways?). Clarke always had known that Wells was too forgiving for his own good, so she had tried not to let her heartbreak over her first love show, even though he had figured her secret out eventually. Apparently she hadn’t hidden her grief as well as she thought.

 _It’s been four years_ , she told herself, rolling her shoulders in an effort to not feel so shaken at Octavia’s news. _It’s been four years, and everything’s different now._

“Yes, my brother. He’s back in town, apparently,” Octavia growled. Her hand fisted over the hilt of her knife at her waist, but then she sighed, slumping. “He was going to surprise me, but then he saw me sparring with Lincoln, and he thought I was really being attacked.”

“Acting before thinking. So not much has changed then,” Clarke sniped, snapping her mouth shut when she realized how petty she sounded. For christ’s sake, she was twenty years old with a dozen lives to her name, not sixteen and blinded by lover--or lust, rather--anymore. Her broken heart had long since mended--hell, had long since been given to others, and taken back again, over the years. Lexa had only been the most recent person to love and then leave her.

“Oh, he’s different alright," Octavia snorted. "I doubt he could’ve done _that_ to Lincoln four years ago.”

“He stopped as soon as he realized who I was, Octavia,” Lincoln piped in. Then he winced as he shifted and pulled something. “Though I certainly wished he would’ve realized that sooner.”

“You’ll get him back. I’ll even hold him down for you,” Octavia insisted, but it was soft, teasing.

Lincoln managed a half-smile, though it was with swollen lips. “Like I’d need your help.”

“I want to get a few punches in too, believe you me.”

Lincoln chuckled at her disgruntled but joking tone.

“This isn’t funny!” Clarke’s hands fisted into her skirt as she paced. “He could cost us a lot tonight, attacking you. The law is: you attack one, you attack us all.”

“How was he supposed to know the law?” Octavia retorted immediately, frowning. Then she glanced apologetically at Lincoln, because Bellamy had been in the wrong, but he was her brother. She was always going to defend him.

“It’s the only thing that’s kept the peace around here,” Wells argued. “We’d have devolved into chaos long ago if we let everyone who ‘didn’t know’ the law slip by unpunished.”

“Not as forgiving as you seem, Jaha?” Octavia taunted, a dangerous edge to her voice.

“I will seek no retribution for this and waive my right to _jus drein jus daun_ ,” Lincoln interrupted, sounding tired. “Frankly, I just want to sleep it off.”

“Can _I_ still invoke the law as punishment?” Octavia muttered as she rushed to help Lincoln stand.

“Don’t worry,” Clarke said stonily, her thoughts racing as she made her decision. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Clarke,” Octavia warned as Wells reached for her arm, a warning in his eyes that he knew what she was about to do.

Too fast for any of them though, she raced upstairs, slamming the door and locking it behind her before Wells could even make it past the landing. Hurriedly she changed into a dress and boots, sword slung over her shoulder with a gun and dagger at her hips. Hefting herself out of her window, she shimmied down the porch roof and columns, dropping with a huff onto the sandy grass below.

With angry steps, she headed for town and the tavern where she no doubt knew Bellamy Blake would be drowning his stupidity in a mug of ale. She ignored the way her pulse jumped at the thought of seeing him again after all these years, because it was much easier to focus on how hard she was going to hit him instead of how very much, even after all this time, she might still want to kiss him.


	5. Chapter 5

“So remind me: how likely it is I’ll have to stop her from putting a blade through your chest?” Raven muttered under her breath as they stood in the trading post entrance, waiting for Clarke to greet them.

Bellamy slid his weapons master a silencing glare.

“I think it’s lower you’ll have to worry about defending,” Miller added under his breath. He guffawed when Bellamy backhanded him lightly in the chest.

“I heard she already covered that territory last night,” Raven jibed back. “And not in the good way.”

“Quiet,” Bellamy snapped. He shifted uncomfortably, because he was still sore. Then he rubbed his palms against his breeches, wondering why in the hell they were so sweaty.

They all straightened when they suddenly heard the quick clip of boots on wood. She was coming.

Dressed in a pale blue dress knotted at her waist to reveal cream breeches underneath, Clarke held her head high as she walked towards them, expressionless as she nodded in greeting before stiffly saying, “We’ll talk in my office.”

She took off, and Bellamy frowned at her back and the blonde hair tumbling down it before following. He sat along with his partners when she gestured to the chairs across from her deck. The back of his neck prickled because Clarke was being far too accommodating. He had expected the door slammed in their faces, or even more likely, having to dodge a few more punches and knee jabs. Instead, she primly shut the door behind them and then asked if they wanted tea.

Miller snorted in denial, and Raven gave her answer by propping her feet very pointedly on the edge of Clarke’s desk. With raised eyebrows, Clarke walked between them and her desk, pausing in front of Raven’s legs.

“Do you mind?” she asked with a saccharine smile.

Raven gave her a wolfish one in return before lifting her legs with a flourish to let her pass. Clarke's hostility lessened a smidge at that, though she still stood straight as a mast before them. With a firm expression, she leaned on the desk, bracing her fingers against the smooth surface.

“What can I help you with today?”

Bellamy felt both Miller and Raven glance sideways at him warily. He ground his teeth, waiting for Clarke’s fire to rise again. It was only a matter of time, especially when it came to him. It used to be the thing he loved most about her.

 _Still is_ , a nagging voice whispered in the back of his head.

To silence it, he smiled, leaned back in his chair, and with his hands behind his head asked, “Who says we need your help?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” she snapped. Then she grimaced, realizing the slip in her composure. “People here need help, they come to me. I had assumed you were no different. If you don’t need my help, then I’ll show you out because I’m very busy--”

“We don’t need your help,” Bellamy interrupted, leaning forward to brace his forearms on his knees. To brace himself for the argument standing between him and his dreams. “But we do need your canons, your gunpowder, and your men.”

Clarke stared at him, dumbfounded, before letting out a barking laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

He glared at her--lit golden as she was in the morning light--and Miller shifted to the edge of his seat, readying for the onslaught of anger he had warned him of.

“You are. You’re serious,” Clarke concluded as she looked between the three of them. “You’re fucking serious.”

“It’ll be worth it when you hear--”

“The only thing I want to hear right now is how you plan to _pay_ for all of this ‘help’ you’re asking from me. Otherwise, you can get the fuck out of my post, Hell, the fuck off my island.” Her hands had clenched into fists on the desktop, knuckles white.

“Clarke,” he warned, standing. “Just listen--”

“No, you just listen!” she shouted, slamming her fist on the desk. He tried not to look at her chest as she leaned forward more. It was the exact wrong moment to notice, but he had always loved her breasts, the slope of them fuller now than the last time he had seen them. It seemed she had grown up just as much as he had. “You come back here after _four_ years gone, when your crime had been pardoned years ago, and you’re not even here a day before you threaten the peace we’ve nearly killed ourselves to achieve, assaulting your sister’s lover in the process, and now, _now_ you’re expecting me to just give you supplies and skilled workers that are five times what anything you could bring me would be _worth_!”

“You done?” He drawled, stepping forward. The edge of the desk pressed into his thighs, as it did to hers on the other side. _If only there wasn’t a desk between them._ Heat pooled low in him as her gaze narrowed on him, flicking up a down. She scowled, straightening as a faint pink blush bloomed on her cheeks. So, she had noticed him staring, and he almost grinned at her reaction.

Her hand flew to the dagger at her waist. “ _Fuck you_.”

Raven just chuckled darkly from her seat, but Miller shot up, hand on his own hilt. Clarke halted him with a sharp glance and a gesturing hand. “Pull that dagger, and you’ll be wishing I threw you out of this house the second I saw you.”

Goaded, Miller drew it quickly in defiance, but before he could even complete a twirl of it, the sound of a pistol cocking echoed in the room.

“Sheathe that blade,” a low voice demanded harshly.

“Wells,” Clarke warned, sounding more tired than admonishing.

Bellamy, however, remained tense as he turned his head to find Wells walking closer until the muzzle was a breath away from Miller’s skull.

“Put. It. Away,” he growled.

With a sneer and deliberately slow movements, Miller replaced his blade in its holder.

“You gonna put the gun down?” Bellamy quipped, though his pulse pounded in his ears. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least if Wells pointed the gun right at his chest next and pulled the trigger. He wouldn’t even hold it against him; he did shoot his father, after all. Fair was fair.

“If I don’t?”

Bellamy shrugged. “I’d deserve it.”

Wells quickly moved the gun towards him, holding it there a minute until Clarke let out a small noise of distress.

“If you need to aim at that close a target to hit, you must not be a very good shot,” Raven commented lightly. Her movements were just as light, but Bellamy knew she was gearing up for a fight if it came to that.

So Bellamy glanced over at Clarke with raised eyebrows, and the band around his chest ease when she nodded at him in understanding. He tried not to think about how they could communicate without words so easily, even after all this time.

Wells seemed to notice too, and with one last tightening of his finger on the trigger, he lowered the pistol.

“I know you were doing it to save Octavia,” he offered evenly. “And Shumway’s dead. We took care of him a while back, after Jake--after the explosion.”

“Good,” Bellamy remarked darkly. “One less thing I have to take care of while I’m here.”

He was relieved to see Wells nod in solidarity at the comment.

“And speaking of you being here,” Clarke interrupted, rapping her knuckles on her desk. “Let’s settle this ridiculous request of yours.”

He waited, waited, waited, long enough to have her lips pursing angrily. Then finally he pulled the small leather binder from his inner coat pocket and tossed it on the desk. It landed with a loud slap, but Clarke didn’t flinch in the slightest. She took her time opening it, delicate fingers running carefully over the rawhide strings as she undid the bow. He couldn’t take his eyes off her hands, noticing how chapped they were. Working hands, more so than they had been when they were younger.

“You brought me a page from a ship ledger, and a map.” Her frown deepened with annoyance. “Why are you wasting my time?”

“Read the map, Clarke.”

Instead, she slapped the binder closed, face pinched in disdain. “Get out.”

“Clarke.”

“Get the _hell_ out of here. I read the map, and you’ve got to be fucking joking if you think I’m going to fund some half-assed plan based on a legend older than this island probably! The treasure of Tondisi? You’ve got to be joking!”

“It’s real, and if you fund the trip to find it, you’ll get half the profits,” Bellamy growled leaning forward on the desk himself. “If you checked the ledger against the map, you’d see--”

“I’d see that once again, I’d be a fool to count on anything you claim to be.”

“What I _claim_ to be!”

“I don’t know how you’ve gotten as far as you have if this is the shit you pull, but I am not as gullible as the rest of your financiers, apparently. Get out and don’t come back until you have a legitimate form of payment!”

“Three million gold pieces! Think of what that could buy you. A shit ton of canons and guns for the fort, I’d bet, as well as supplies in case the Mt. Weather navy forces I’ve heard are circling your precious home here actually do lay siege.”

“Tondisi is a fucking _children’s tale_!”

“Or maybe you just don’t have the guts to go after it! You’ve never had the guts to do anything that would require leaving your very comfortable mansion here, so really, I don't know why I'm surprised at your answer,” he sneered.

She sucked in a pained breath at his last, stinging accusation, hurt and resentment flaring hot in her blue eyes. Bellamy knew he shouldn’t have said it, that it reopened all the old wounds they were both trying to pretend weren’t there. He couldn’t move though, not until Raven gripped his arm tightly, tugging.

“You’re done,” she hissed in his ear. “You’re done here. Let’s go before you ruin our chances of ever leaving this harbor at all.”

It was a relief to have someone tell him what to do, because when it came to Clarke Griffin, it felt like he was fucking drowning in the waves of a hurricane-riled sea. Turning on his heel, he stormed out of the room, coat tails billowing behind him.

“You forgot your damn map!” Clarke yelled after him.

He didn’t bother responding, couldn’t look back not even to get the two pieces of paper that were going to save them all, because if he did, he might remember walking away from her another time, when it was dark and they were younger, when he had far less blood staining his soul and they had a much better chance at being who they were together instead of who the world made them become when they were apart.


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke rubbed her temples, willing the pounding in her head to stop. Tallying stock in the post until three in the morning hadn’t been her best idea, especially when she knew today she’d be dealing with the fallout of Murphy’s spectacular fuck-up with Trikru from earlier in the week. She considered taking down her bun to relieve some of the tension. She hadn’t worn her hair loose since she was a girl, however. Well, at least until three days ago when some insanity had gripped her and convinced her to let her curls down for Bellamy’s visit.

Like a hairstyle was going to turn back the hourglass.

Wells poked his head into her office. “Miles is here to pickup the latest shipment, and the scouts have spotted Niylah’s ship on the horizon. Oh, and Anya is here to see you.”

Clarke stared at him, the information not quite registering.

“Do you want me to let her in?”

When she didn’t respond again, he sighed and stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“I’m fine,” she protested. Shifting uneasily in her chair, she glanced at the open window, trying to shake the feeling of being caged in.

“You’re a great liar, but I’ve known you too long to let that bullshit fool me. You’ve been a mess since Bellamy was here.”

She sent him an exasperated glare. “Thanks for that assessment. So helpful. So glad you’re my friend.”

“Just suggesting you pull it together before Anya walks in and reads you like the open book you are right now.”

“I know,” Clarke sighed, standing.

As she straightened her dress, Wells walked to her side. He reached out and cupped her shoulder. “I can send him away, if you want.”

She thought of the rumors she had heard of him charming a third of the island population already, and the glimpses she herself had seen of dark curls and a cocky swagger as Bellamy re-familiarized himself with Arkadia. She was happy for Octavia that she had her brother back, but his presence here was wreaking havoc on her peace of mind. “I don’t want to--”

“--give him the satisfaction,” Wells finished for her with a grin. “I figured, but I wanted to offer regardless.”

Nodding, she squeezed his hand on her shoulder. “Show Anya in.”

Wells left, and a moment later, the commander of Trikru strode inside, looking angrier than usual.

“We have a problem,” she announced bluntly, standing in front of her desk with apparently no intention of taking a seat.

Clarke bit back a sigh and continued standing herself, matching Anya’s height as best she could. When the commander started speaking, however, it was all Clarke could do not to collapse into the chair behind her because what Anya was describing sounded very much like the beginning of the end.

* * *

 

Clarke refused to see anyone else that day, enclosing herself in her study. It was only when the torches had been burning for hours that Wells sought her out. His eyes widened at the glass swinging loosely from her fingers, swaying as her elbow wobbled on the desk top.

“That bad?” he asked flippantly, pouring his own glass before dropping into a chair.

“That Mt. Weather ship Indra spotted sneaking around these parts a few weeks ago? Now four more ships have been spotted. Rumors say others have been sighted further out, headed this way. And even better: two Trikru ships have been attacked by those very navy vessels heading our way.”

Wells swore and took a large gulp of his drink. His gaze turned calculating, watching her, waiting.

Clarke smiled grimly. “Seems Lexa was right. We should’ve run when we had the chance.”

When the first whispers of the navy’s ambition to crack down on the pirates apparently 'plaguing' the waters they believed belonged to the Mt. Weather mainland colony, Lexa had agreed they should fight. The longer the rumors persisted, though, the antsier she became, until Clarke came into their bedroom one night to find her packing her things. Lexa had asked her to come away with her, and when she refused--giving the same reason as always, that this was her home--the woman had just looked at her sadly, mournfully, as if she was already a corpse floating in the bay.

“She didn’t build this, Clarke,” Wells insisted, his voice hard but not for her. “You did. She had no reason to stay, no loyalty holding her here. You do, and she couldn’t possibly understand that.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up inside Clarke, burning her throat worse than the whiskey she had been drinking all evening. It seemed she was fated to keep falling for those who would leave this place, who didn’t understand her connection to it. A sudden, fierce affection for her best friend washed over her, tugging at her like a riptide.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she said, “If you want to leave, I’ll leave with you. You’ve given enough to this place. I won’t ask you to--”

“If you think I’m going to leave Arkadia after nearly losing an eye, a hand, who knows how many other body parts and my dignity to top it off from that one incident with Maya that shall never be brought up again in building this place up, then you can go jump into the bay,” he drawled loftily.

She managed a smile at that, blinking away her melancholy. “Good to know you’ve got my back.”

“Always.” Wells stared solemnly at her, and a small spark started in her gut, the same one that started when he had come to her after their parents’ first mentions of leaving and told her he wasn’t stepping foot on any ship anytime soon, and neither was she, that they would honor her father and stay and build the place of brotherhood he had always wanted.

They continued drinking in silence as the candles burned lower. Wells was no doubt clearing his mind of all thoughts, as he always did before resetting himself to tackle whatever shitstorm was heading their way. Clarke couldn’t stop her own mind from racing however. An anxious energy thrummed inside of her, and her hands fluttered over the papers on her desk. Soon enough her fingers were running repeatedly over soft leather, restless and searching. When she realized it was Bellamy’s binder, she frowned at her traitorous hand.

It wasn’t like she had anything better to do, however, except contemplate the enemy being at their doorstep, so she opened it up and rifled through the papers. The more she looked, the more everything else fell away. She sat up straighter, bending down to inspect the ledger notes and the map. Her fingers traced the parchment now, this time with purpose.

“Oh hell,” she suddenly breathed. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Wells made a questioning noise, but she was too caught up in scanning the documents.

“ _Fucking hell_ ,” she repeated, jumping up so suddenly that her chair rocked backwards, almost tipping over. “He was right.”

“Clarke,” Wells warned, standing to lean over to see.

Excitedly, she pushed the papers towards him. “Look for yourself. The smug pain in the ass was right. Bellamy found it. He fucking found the treasure of Tondisi.”

Documents in hand, Wells brought them up close to his face, studying them furiously. Excitement coursed through her as she watched his expression twist from skeptical to confused to shocked.

“The bastard found it,” he murmured, looking over at her incredulously.

“We’re going after it.”

Wells’ smile faded a bit. “Clarke. This is a long shot, even with this evidence.”

“I know but--think of what that money could buy us. Aside from the weapons and supplies to fight off the Mt. Weather navy, we could overhaul the entire island. We can build more docks, more taverns and boarding houses, another trading post nearer the port! Just think of it.”

“You really trust Bellamy enough to fund him to find it _and_ bring us back our rightful share? He hasn’t built his reputation on nothing, you know.”

“Of course we would go with him to make sure he keeps his word,” Clarke insisted, plucking her quill up to begin making a list of supplies to gather for their journey.

“And leave Arkadia unguarded?”

She frowned. “One of us will have to stay then, to keep things running smoothly.”

“You mean I will stay,” he replied dryly, as if offended. When she glanced up at him though, one corner of his mouth was crooked up in amusement. “What makes you think Bellamy will accept you accompanying him?”

“He’ll just have to.”

Wells snorted. “Excellent plan. Do tell me how that goes over.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Clarke said with a calculating grin. This was one part of the plan she had already thought through thoroughly. “He’ll be more than accommodating to my presence on this endeavor.”

Wells raised his eyebrows. “I don’t want to know. I really don’t.”

Laughing, Clarke took another sip of her drink, relishing in the way it suddenly tasted fresh and invigorating instead of stale. “No, you really don’t.”

* * *

 

When Bellamy responded to her summons the next morning, she was standing in front of the fire, watching the last bits of scorched parchment she had thrown into the flames curl into nothing but blackened ash.

“You asked to see us?”

She turned, seeing him stride confidently into the room with Miller and Raven at his heels. They stuck close to their boss, surveying her with curiosity. Clarke bit back a smile, because they had no idea what she had in store for them.

“I’ve had time to consider your offer.” She paused, walking behind her desk.

“And?” Bellamy’s voice was snappish, impatient.

“I’m impressed and pleased to agree to funding your endeavor.”

Raven and Miller raised their eyebrows almost in tandem, clearly surprised at her accommodating behavior. Bellamy, however, frowned. “What’s your catch? Don’t bother to say there isn’t one.”

She ignored the implied _I know you_ , not wanting to dwell on the fact that he did indeed know her, too well for her liking. She’d best get used to it, however, considering her plans for the future weeks. “I’m going with you.”

Miller laughed, though Raven had the decency to look like she was at least considering the demand seriously.

“No,” Bellamy responded slowly.

“Yes. I need to make sure I get a return on my investment.”

Something bitter flashed across his face. “Afraid I’ll double-cross you?”

“You are the rebel sea king, are you not? I’d be a fool to not come along.”

He started to say something, looking more frustrated by the second, but Raven interrupted. “Give us back the documents so we can start planning, and we’ll think about your request while we prepare.”

Trying to keep her face neutral, Clarke handed over the leather binder. Bellamy was no idiot, however, and tore it open, looking through the papers inside. When he realized what was missing, he glanced up with fury in his eyes.

“Where is it, Clarke?” he hissed. “Where is the ledger page?”

“You don’t have a copy?” she asked sweetly. Her pulse sped up, but she kept her mockingly pleasant smile steady. This was the part where her plan might fall to bits if he actually had planned ahead and made a copy. From the ill looks on Raven’s and Miller’s faces, however, it seemed they had been in too much of a rush to take that precaution. Victory hummed across her skin; she had him.

“No,” Bellamy confirmed through gritted teeth. “No, we do not have a copy.”

“Then I guess you actually do need me to come along. See, I was studying the ledger page this morning, standing by the fireplace, and so very unfortunately, it fell in. Total and complete accident. Burned to a crisp straight away. It would have been a disaster, except I do remember every bit of it perfectly. Isn’t that lucky?”

“An accident. I see. Spent all night memorizing it, did you?” he asked darkly.

A laugh escaped her, because he looked so damn frustrated. She clapped a hand over her smiling lips, trying not to antagonize him further. His hand clenched on the binder, but then another laugh joined hers, from Raven.

“You and I are going to be great friends,” the brunette said, striding forward with a giddy grin and outstretched hand.

Clarke shook it gladly, an odd sense of relief washing over her. She had been prepared for Bellamy’s crew to resent her self-imposed presence on the journey. Having someone even a bit welcoming to her would make the long weeks at sea a whole lot easier.

“Fine,” Bellamy relented reluctantly. “You’re coming. Apparently we'll _need_ you now.”

“I’ll submit the supply requests immediately then. Already wrote them up last night,” she said cheerily.

He shot her one last disgruntled look before exiting. When the door clicked shut behind him, Clarke sighed in relief. She looked around at the room with its sand-worn floorboards, gauzy curtains, and salt-caked crystal chandelier. Soon she could afford to put a chandelier in every room on this damn island, and a dozen canons on the top of each building to defend themselves too, if their venture was successful.

Humming happily to herself, she collected the supply lists to bring down to the post so they could begin preparing for the journey, trying not to think about the long weeks she would spend in close proximity to a man who had never taken kindly to being outsmarted. Even with that worrisome prospect, she couldn’t help the giddy grin that stayed on her face all day. With a portion of the Tondisi treasure, she was going to save Arkadia from their Mt. Weather enemies. She was going to save her home, and no one, not even Bellamy Blake, was going to stop her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get a little bit of Octavia's view here. One of 2 chapters in this fic *not* from Clarke or Bellamy's point of view (the other one will be from Raven's!).

Seated at a table in a small room at the back of the tavern, Octavia grinned at her two favorite men as she laid down her cards triumphantly. She could hear the crowd drinking and singing in the main area, thankful it meant a good haul for the business but also glad she was back here instead of in the thick of it. Bellamy scowled and groaned as he looked at her cards, and Lincoln just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Oh good. Now I can purchase that new cutlass I’ve been eyeing,” she crowed, sweeping in the coins on the table.

“My own sister betrays me,” Bellamy answered dramatically, clutching his hand to his chest. “I cannot believe I come home only to have you hustle me.”

“I tried to warn you,” Lincoln added.

“You did indeed. I never was a particularly good listener.”

Lincoln grinned, leaning back in his chair. It hadn’t taken all that much for him to accept her brother's apology, other than some tense minutes where Bellamy waited for him to deck him in revenge. Of course Lincoln hadn’t taken that opportunity, but he certainly let Bellamy think he was considering it. Remembering the careful handshake they had shared after that moment had broken, Octavia smiled at him as she counted her earnings. “No, he wasn’t,” she agreed.

Her brother began to gather the cards, shuffling them with precision. She had won, but it hadn’t been easy. It seems both of their educations in the last four years had included card-playing and bluffing in addition to fighting.

“Another game?” she asked.

“O, it’s close to midnight.”

“Scared of losing again?”

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Not in the least. It’s just we leave right after dawn tomorrow. I need to get at least some sleep.”

Octavia felt her contentment wane at the mention of his departure. She had thought about going with him, but she was needed here. With Clarke absent, Wells would have his hands full, and she and Lincoln were key mediators between the crews. As much as she wanted to go with Bellamy, she knew here was where she would make the most difference. Even so, she was going to miss him terribly, so she implored, “One more game? Please?”

Bellamy’s smile turned fond and sad. “That face didn’t work on me even when you were young. And you were cuter then, so it’s not going to work now. It’s time to call it a night, O.”

He stood, laying the card deck on the table carefully. Her throat closed up as she watched him gather his things to head upstairs to his room. When Bellamy straightened, she couldn’t hold herself back anymore. Flinging herself at him, she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly.

“Don’t go,” she whispered into his shoulder as he embraced her back. “Just forget the treasure. Help me run the tavern. It can make enough for the both of us.”

She felt him huff against her temple before pulling back. Then he tugged teasingly on one of her braids, smiling.

“I’m sure it could,” he agreed. “But I have to do this. This money is something that could set us, all of us, up for life. I won’t let a chance like that pass me by.”

Octavia scrunched her nose in displeasure, but then let her expression soften into one of understanding. Because really, she did understand, all too well. They had been struggling with the same things in the past four years, even if they were oceans apart. She was his sister; she was always going to comprehend the need for stability that drove him, that drove the both of them to look for a place to belong. She had found hers here as a business owner and a partner to Lincoln. Octavia only hoped her brother would soon find the same peace she had fought for, and won, here in Arkadia too, after he came back.

“Safe travels, big brother,” she whispered, tears welling up. She’d see him off tomorrow morning, of course, but this moment in the quiet, dim room still felt like a goodbye.

Bellamy closed his eyes and pressed a hard kiss to her forehead. “Thanks, O.”

He nodded to Lincoln as he left, the raucous noise rising and then falling as the door opened and shut, leaving just the two of them in the room. Octavia immediately went to Lincoln, climbing onto his lap and curling up in his arms. He brushed the hair away from her neck and ran his fingers through it comfortingly.

“He’ll come back to you,” he whispered. “He’ll come back safe and sound.”

“Promise?”

“He’d destroy hell itself if that’s what he had to do to come back to you.”

Octavia made an assenting noise, her nerves calming. Then she tensed, thinking of the haunted look that sometimes flickered in her brother’s eyes now and wondering if he indeed had already fought that battle. They shared a lot of things with each other they wouldn’t with anyone else, but she was smart enough to know that her brother would keep some things from her. Pike had a frightening reputation even among the worst crews on the island, and Bellamy had served with him for a while. Her stomach turned at the thought, but Lincoln kept stroking her hair, calming her. She chose to focus on that instead of imagining what Bellamy might have endured in his years away. Those demons would come to light eventually, but only when he was ready. Without a doubt, she would be here to listen when that day came.

So for now, she just snuggled closer to Lincoln, reveling in his warmth and solidness, waiting for dawn to break.

* * *

Octavia had just finished wiping down the counter after the midday rush when Anya and Indra entered the tavern. They surveyed the room carefully, but when they caught sight of her, they strode over with purpose.

Steeling herself, Octavia flexed a firm smile at them. “What can I get for you today?”

“Where’s Clarke?” Anya demanded.

She kept smiling, willing herself to not sigh at their predictability. “Ask Wells. He’s the one that keeps tabs on her, not me.”

“He said she’s away,” Indra answered. “We want to know where.”

“Do I look like I know?”

Indra snorted. “What happens in this town that you _don’t_ know about?”

“Just because I know things doesn’t mean I talk about them.”

“So you do know where Clarke went.”

Octavia frowned. “What if I do?”

“It is not smart of her to leave, not when we have enemies on our shores,” Anya warned. “The Mt. Weather navy ships draw closer every day. We should be preparing to defend the island, not chasing after--”

She broke off, lips pursing. Octavia raised her eyebrows and murmured, “You didn’t come here to find out where Clarke is and what she’s doing. You came to _confirm_ what she is doing.”

After a minute of working her jaw, Anya responded, “Tris scouted her in disguise boarding Captain Blake’s ship at dawn this morning.”

“It is a fool’s errand, going on a treasure hunt at this time,” Indra added heatedly.

“You don’t trust Wells to build up Arkadia’s defenses?” Octavia snapped back. “And where do you think the funds are going to come from to pay the crews to defend the island, to purchase the weapons and supplies they’ll need to do just that? Clarke is trying to do exactly as you asked, even if it means being absent at the moment.”

Anya and Indra exchanged wary glances before the former said, “Wells is capable, but he is too slow to resort to shows of force. It worries us, and it worries the members of our crews.”

“Trikru has no need to worry, not yet. Wells will defend this place to his death, and Clarke will be back soon enough, as long as you keep your mouths shut about where she is. We don’t need any crews looking to prove themselves heading out after my brother and her, thinking they can find the gold first and take over the island. None of us want that.”

“No, we don’t,” Anya agreed with a relenting nod. “We won’t say a word.”

Octavia managed a half-smile in response the the woman’s sincere words. “Thank you. I appreciate it. We all do.”

Both women raised their hands in farewell, striding out with as much fervor as they had entered. Octavia amusedly wondered how exhausting it must be to be that on-guard all of the time. She admired Trikru’s fortitude and fierceness, but there was a reason she hadn’t sworn herself to their crew in the end. She and Lincoln were quite content straddling the middle of the road as fighters without a crew. It wasn’t the easiest of positions, but it gave them the freedom and flexibility they both craved. Having him at her side--and being right there at his--was the best part of it, actually.

Thinking of him always brought a smile to her face, like at this very moment. She didn’t even care if her patrons thought she was strange, grinning furiously as she wiped ale mug after ale mug clean.

She would do a lot of crazy things for Lincoln, and smiling like a besotted fool in the middle of the sunny afternoon was the least of them.

* * *

“Is it true?” Octavia demanded, flying into Wells’ office even as Miles tried to stop her at the door.

“Wells, I’m sorry,” the boy sputtered, but the man behind the desk just waved his hand in understanding. He raised his eyebrows at Octavia in reprimand but she just huffed impatiently. Then she nudged Miles out the door and kicked it shut behind her.

“That was rude.”

Octavia jerked her head to the right, noticing Raven slumped in a armchair, bits of rope and metal in her lap. Her hands never stopped moving, working the pieces together, as she looked at Octavia with amusement. When Bellamy had asked one of his crew members to stay behind--an exchange for Clarke, in a sense--Raven had volunteered with fairly little griping. It surprised Octavia because the weapons master didn’t seem like the type to sit out when adventure called. Given that she had spent most of her time pestering Wells, however, Octavia assumed there had been incentive for her to stay, even if Raven herself didn’t know it yet.

“Did my brother enforce etiquette on his ship? Not what I would’ve expected,” she sniped back.

Raven grinned, her smile softer than Octavia would have figured. “Whatever the hell we want was more his style.”

Wells snorted, and Octavia refocused her attention on her original reason for bursting in on them so late.

“Is it true?” she asked again as she approached the desk, slow emphasis on every word.

“Is what true?” Wells stalled, eyes on the papers he was shuffling around.

Octavia leaned her knuckles on the desk edge, the worn, humidity-softened wood pressing, but not biting, into her skin. “An Azgeda crew left the island two nights ago with no apparent score lead that anyone knows of, _and_ they managed to pass the Mt. Weather ships prowling the waters just beyond the harbor.”

“It’s possible.”

“It’s _possible_!” Octavia exclaimed. “Are you kidding me? They’re going after my brother and Clarke!”

Wells jerked his gaze up, frowning. “We don’t know that.”

“The hell we don’t know that. Of course they’re going for the Tondisi treasure! Word’s gotten around--”

“I know,” he commented darkly. “I’ve had every captain, crewmember, and cabin boy banging down my door the past few days asking me to confirm the rumor. The phrase ‘no comment’ doesn’t even seem real to me anymore.”

“I didn’t let it slip!” Octavia snapped. She paused, then admitted, “Well, Indra and Anya already knew when they came to me.”

He rubbed his forehead, sighing. “I don’t know how it got around. It could’ve been someone on Bellamy’s crew with a liquor-loosened tongue. It could’ve been someone listening at the door to Clarke and I. There’s no fixing it now.”

“But we can fix the Azgeda problem.”

“No, we can’t. They’re one of the most powerful and productive crews in Arkadia. How would it look if I sent a retrieval crew after them, only to find out they are not going after Tondisi? They’d burn this city to the ground faster than we could blink. Besides, there’s the risk of our crew getting caught by those same navy ships, and then we’ll be in even more trouble.”

Octavia made a protesting noise, because _of course_ Azgeda had no other objective other than to get their ruthless, greedy hands on a treasure that size, and it was highly suspicious they had evaded the navy. On top of all that, they wouldn’t let any other pursuers of the treasurer live even after they had the gold. Panic for her brother--and for Clarke--gripped her tighter, and she loomed over Wells, scowling.

His lips pursed as he stood to look at her on the same level. “Anything I do to stop them will just make it worse, Octavia. Your brother is smart, and Clarke knows Captain Roan well. If Azgeda does catch up to them at any point--before, during, or after the treasure retrieval--I trust they will manage to ward them off just fine.”

Her jaw clenched as she resisted the truth of his weary words. She hated that there was nothing she could do, short of commandeering a boat herself to go after them, which would not end well in the least. So, shooting Wells one last pointed glare, she turned and strode out of the room. Miles jumped a few inches when the door flew open and she blew past, but soon he was forgotten as Octavia tore through the night, just hoping to run into someone who was dumb or drunk enough to challenge her.

With the adrenaline and furious concern for Bellamy coursing through her veins, she was in the mood for a fight, and when a mean looking sailor whistled provocatively at her, she stopped in her tracks, relieved for the opportunity.

She beckoned him closer, put her hand to her sword hilt, and smiled grimly. He had no idea what was about to hit him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://kay-emm-gee.tumblr.com)!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to katelyn for beta-ing this for me!

With the sun beating down on his bare shoulders, Bellamy gave the rope one last firm tug around the cleat hitch to secure the main mast rigging. As he straightened, flexing his rope-burned hands, he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Someone aboard the busy deck of _The Scylla_ was watching him. Bellamy was used to having eyes on him at all times; he was the captain after all. The creeping pinpricks of awareness shouldn’t bother him.

He wasn’t used to _her_ eyes--ones as blue and as fathomless as the seas they were sailing on--following him though. And Clarke’s gaze did follow him, carefully and cautiously and curiously, more often than he expected in the last two weeks of traveling but less often than he hoped. The fact that he was hoping--well, that was a problem.

As he accepted a canteen from Echo, he glanced around, looking for Clarke. All he saw was the swish of skirts and the back of her braid. That was how it had been since setting sail: watching each other from the corners of their eyes, nodding quickly when they passed each other below decks, and conversing succinctly as they battled for dominance over who in truth commanded their mission.

Despite the tension, or maybe because of it, Bellamy always knew when she was there, when she was watching and when she was not. Gulping down more overly warm water, he wondered when their stalemate was going to break.

“Leave some for the rest of us,” Echo muttered, lips twisting with dry humor.

“Don’t be insubordinate,” he shot back with a grin.

With three fingers to her kerchief-covered head, she bowed dramatically. “Apologies, my illustrious captain.”

Bellamy snorted and walked away shaking his head.

* * *

 

That night, he was the one doing the watching. Across the tiny common area, Clarke was eating with Monty and Jasper. In between bites, she would push a stray strand of hair away from her face. Except it kept falling, her curls made even more unruly by the salty, humid air. Her hand would go up, she would push the strand back with the heel of her thumb, then take another bite, it would fall, and she’d do it again. Bellamy’s own hand twitched with a yearning to tuck it behind her ear so it would stay put. Then he scowled because those types of thoughts were dangerous--to him, to her, to his crew and their mission. This treasure hunt would change all of their lives momentously; his past wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

Suddenly Clarke looked up, right at him. Her gaze shuttered and he tensed, because he had still been scowling at her, though not because of her, even if that’s what she was thinking in the moment. With one last blink in his direction, she turned back to her dinner mates, angling her body just the slightest bit more away from him. Bellamy pursed his lips in annoyance and frustration. Reaching for his flask, he knocked back a healthy bout of rum. The burn of it felt good, a distraction in its most base form.

He didn’t look at her the rest of the night, which was its own kind of burning punishment, but it was for the best. Neither of them could afford what might happen if they looked at each other for too long.

* * *

 

Perspiration gathered on Bellamy’s brow as he stood on the rear quarterdeck overlooking his crew. The wind was picking up, and they were working as fast as they could to adjust the sails and rigging appropriately. Miller was several feet in front of him, hollering out orders.

“Ruthless,” he joked, stepping forward to clap his quartermaster on the shoulder.

Miller snorted. “We’re going to rip a sail if those idiots don’t get their shit together. A fact which none of them seem to appreciate the importance of.”

“You’re saving their fortunes--and their lives. Exactly why they put you in charge. That’s their appreciation right there,” Bellamy responded.

“They didn’t ‘put’ me in charge. _I_ didn’t even put me in charge. No other poor bastard wanted the job, so it just defaulted to me.”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. “You saying I’m an over-demanding captain?”

“Wouldn’t dare,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

This time Bellamy softly cuffed him on the side of his head, and Miller flipped a knife in his hand. “Try me, Captain. Just try me.”

“Another day, Miller. Another day you’ll get your ass handed to you. Just not on one where I actually need you.”

“So never, basically. You know you couldn’t sail this piece of--”

“Watch it,” Bellamy warned, a tiny bit of genuine defensiveness rising for _The Scylla_.

“--of _history_ without me.” Miller adjusted his cap. “You going to tell me otherwise?”

Before Bellamy could respond, Jasper shouted out their current traveling speed, and both of them grinned.

“We’re making damn good time,” his quartermaster said with unrestrained glee. “We’ll be at the Tondisi location in just over a week. You should go tell Monty.”

“Why don’t you?” Bellamy shot back, though almost immediately he regretted the childish tone.

Miller chuckled. “Because I don’t need an excuse to go into the navigation room anymore. Monty and I are doing just fine.”

“I don’t need an excuse to go into my own navigation room.”

Miller raised his eyebrows, lips pressed together as if holding back a taunting grin.

“Fuck off,” Bellamy huffed in farewell, heading for the stairs. Miller’s laughter followed him down to the lower deck and through the wooden door that led to the rear quarters where Monty and Clarke had holed themselves up for the last two weeks of traveling.

As he stood outside the room, taking a deep breath, he heard Monty’s voice and then Clarke’s laugh ring out loudly. For a moment, he caught himself smiling, the sound throwing him back to a time where he used to hear her laughter almost every day. Then the shouts of his crew came from behind him, a reminder of where he was now. The smile faded, and he pushed open the door.

Monty and Clarke were standing over the table at the rear of the room, backlit by the sun streaming in through the windows. Her light smile faded a bit when she looked up and saw him. He steeled himself against it.

“News?” Monty asked, always to the point.

Bellamy repeated their reported speed and the resulting instructions for how he wanted to proceed. Monty nodded, his focused expression revealing that he was already figuring out ways to meet his captain’s requests.

“So we’ll be there in a week?” Clarke interrupted. Her fingers trailed over the map in front of her, and she didn’t look up from it.

“A week,” Bellamy confirmed shortly. “So you have exactly one week left to enjoy your little game.”

“Game?” She laughed. “This isn’t a game. I’m doing what is in everyone’s best interest here.”

“What’s in _your_ \--”

“Everybody’s,” she said sharply, finally looking up. He didn’t break away from her hard, blue gaze, even if the intensity sent a slight shiver down his spine. “Without this treasure, Arkadia will fall. And if Arkadia falls, we all fall. We do this, together.”

He didn’t reply because she was right. Even so, he gritted his jaw against the one sticking point, the fact that she knew he knew this, yet hadn’t trusted him on his own to complete the task.

“Well, you’ll have your solution in about a week, and then we can all get on with our lives.”

He turned before either of them could responded, striding out of the room and back onto the deck. There under the bright sun and cloudless sky, he could breathe freely, the wind in his hair and the sound of waves in his ears, reminding him that no matter how strongly the anchors of his past tried to drag him down, the sea would always be there to keep him floating toward freedom.

* * *

 

The next night, Bellamy was sitting in the navigation room. In the candlelight, he poured over the scraps and pieces of information he had painstakingly gathered for almost two years, the ones that had come together to lead him to the Tondisi treasure. He practically had them memorized by now, but the closer they got to their destination, the more it felt as if success would slip right through his fingers.

A muffled collection of cheers and whoops filtered in from the main deck. Bellamy glanced at the door, thinking of his crew. Miller had organized a celebration for everyone before the hard work of tracking and digging up the treasure began. Anybody who wasn’t on duty tonight had gathered outside, drinking and playing cards and soaking up the joy of their coming victory. In any other situation, Bellamy would consider such a celebration bad luck. The excitement in his crew was palpable, though. He wasn’t about to hold them back after all of them pouring two years of sweat and blood into this endeavor, not when they were so very close.

It was only when music began to play that he even considered joining in. He glanced down at the collection of papers in front of him as the lively mix of fiddle and fife grew louder. Breathing deeply, he tried to focus. The words blurred together, and before he knew it, he was pushing back his chair and heading for the door.

On deck, a warm glow lit up the night, coming from the collection of lanterns scattered about and the happy energy of the gathered crew. Even those on duty in the rigging above could be heard singing along to the song being played. Bellamy stayed in the back. Even as a captain friendly with his crew, he didn’t want to cast a pall on the festivities. It was easier to linger on the fringes, smiling as he watched Harper tug Monroe up for a dance, or Jasper and Monty race to see who could braid a rope faster. Jasper won, but only because Miller was sitting right next to Monty, making him flush and distracting him. Bellamy chuckled as Miller soothed Monty’s wounded pride by kissing him on the temple.

“You’re far too sober for a gathering like this.”

Bellamy jerked his head to the right. In the dim light, Clarke’s hair still glinted brightly, golden even in the late hour.

“A good captain doesn’t get drunk when he has a crew to look after,” he replied. She took a step closer, and he resented--and enjoyed--how he could sense every inch of her presence so strongly.

“They’re a responsible bunch,” she pressed. At his doubtful look, she smirked. “Alright, _most_ of them are. And Miller hasn’t had even a sip tonight, so.”

“So?”

Instead of responding, she reached over and tugged his flask out of his belt. He resisted the reflexive intake of breath from her fingers brushing his side. Wiggling it in front of him, she backed up, heading for the stairs to the quarterdeck.

“So,” she drawled. “Are you going to drink with me or not?”

Her expression was challenging--not quite friendly but not quite adversarial either. It made Bellamy want to follow her, quickly, before she changed her mind. Wariness about her motives held him back though. Crossing his arms, he cocked his head, acting as if he was considering turning her down. Clarke tipped her chin up skeptically, however, gaze narrowing.

As he held her stare, he could hear his pulse begin to rush in his ears. His heartbeat grew louder and louder when he watched Clarke take. another step back. Mouth set mulishly, she retreated up a stair. She rose up another increment, then another.

“Are you coming or not?” She called out quietly.

Bellamy glanced briefly over his shoulder; no one seemed to be paying them any attention. When he looked back at Clarke--stray curls blowing in the soft breeze, eyes alight with a softer glint than he had seen since coming back to her--the last of his resolve crumbled. He walked forward, steps deliberately slow and controlled. Even so, one corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile before she turned and ascended the rest of the steps onto the quarterdeck.

Bellamy wasn’t far behind, leaning on the stern railing a moment after she did. Clarke didn’t waste any time unscrewing his flask. After a quick glance at him, she took a confident, healthy swig, not even wincing once. Bellamy stared because she couldn’t manage even a sip of the most diluted rum when they had drank together last, four years ago now.

“I had to grow up sometime,” she said dryly, clearing reading his surprise. “And I wouldn’t be trade boss if I couldn’t drink most of the crews under the table.”

“Co-trade boss,” he corrected, tugging the flask out of her hand. “Wells isn’t just for show, I assume.”

“For once, you’re right.”

He huffed through his nose. “Just for once?”

She threw him a wry grin before taking another sip. When she didn’t say anything else, Bellamy turned his gaze towards the miles of rippling ocean trailing behind his ship. The water shone a dark navy, the reflected moonlight turning the breaking caps silver. It almost matched the sky--a blanket of black scattered with pinpricks of glimmering brightness.

Clarke inhaled deeply beside him, humming as she let the breath out. He felt her relax just the slightest and warmed at the thought of the sea calming her as much as it did him. When she took another swig of the flask, he broke the silence.

“If you keep going at that rate, we’ll run out before the next song ends.”

She shrugged. “I’m assuming there’s more where this came from.”

After waiting a beat, Bellamy slipped a few yards down the deck, searching with the tip of his boot for the loose board. He grinned when he found it, flipping it up to reveal what he was searching for.

He was barely holding back a grin when he turned back around to Clarke with an old but clear oblong bottle filled with rum in his hand. “Jasper keeps stashes all over the ship,” he explained.

Her eyes lit up, and in one quick movement, she slid gracefully onto the deck, settling back against the railing with her legs outstretched. “Hand it over, then.”

Bellamy obliged, sitting far closer to her than he should, and handed the bottle over, wondering just what he had gotten himself into.

Their first hour of conversation was like walking on slack rigging--a careful balancing act, with death just one wrong footstep (or word) away. The emptier the bottle became, however, the less Bellamy feared that he would detonate whatever uneasy truce they were building under the stars tonight. It wasn’t until they stumbled onto the topic of her rise to power in Arkadia that she tensed up next to him.

“Never mind,” he said hastily, shoving the bottle at her. “Forget I asked.”

She took a deep breath but finally responded, “My dad died, my mom left, and I stayed behind to pick up the pieces. There isn’t much more to the story than that.”

“Clarke.”

After a short pause, she relented.

“I was two weeks away from seventeen when he died,” she rasped. The bottle stayed in her lap, her hands fisting around the neck tightly. “Blown to high heaven in a warehouse explosion--meant to look like an accident, but no one believed that. We didn’t even have a body to bury.”

Bellamy breathed in sharply. He hadn’t heard of Jake’s tragic death until over a year after the fact. It was the only time he had considered coming back to Arkadia, but he also knew Pike wasn’t the type to let a crewmember leave, not in the middle of a voyage. Even after all this time, he still didn’t know the details of his death, not until now. For Clarke to not even have a chance to see Jake one last time, even as a corpse--it killed him to even think about it.

So lost in his thoughts, and regrets, he didn’t quite realize he had begun to speak. “I always wondered why I never heard from him.”

“What?”

Clarke’s shocked tone made him freeze. Cold washed through him as the silence stretched between him.

“Nothing.” He tried to tug the bottle away from her, but she clutched it tighter.

“What did you mean?” She insisted. “ _Bellamy_.”

Bellamy swallowed tightly, heart thudding in his chest. She was never supposed to know this, this secret of his, and Jake’s. Even though the man had been dead for three years, it still felt like a betrayal. It had been the one thing Jake had asked of him that night, that awful night when he had believed there was no other choice than to take a gun in his hand and shoot the governor. Clarke was never supposed to know what her father had done for him.

A small but strong hand gripped his chin, pulling it to his right and right in front of her face. Clarke’s eyes bore fiercely into his, her brow furrowed in determination. “Tell me, right now.”

“He was the one,” Bellamy murmured, stuck between a promise to a dead man and the desperation to not put walls between him and Clarke again. “Your father was the one who helped me escape that night. Sent me to some of his contacts in the colonies, until we could figure something out.”

Her lips parted in surprise. She blinked, clearly trying to process what he had said. “You never said--”

“He asked me not to. He was supposed to come for me, when it would have been safe for me to return to Arkadia, but he--”

“He died,” she breathed.

“He was the only one who knew where I was, so I waited. I waited until I couldn’t wait any longer.” Bellamy jerked his head out of her grip, jaw working. He didn’t like remembering those months, a time when endless guilt and searing regret were demons whispering to him that he was a monster and that no one was coming for him, especially not a man like Jake Griffin. Demons that told him a man like that wouldn’t want a man like him--a killer, a selfish and impulsive killer--near his daughter. Even when he had found out about Jake’s death, the demons still whispered: _he was never coming for you anyways, never never never. You weren’t--aren’t--worthy of being saved._

“You didn’t know.”

Bellamy closed his eyes at the way Clarke’s voice broke in understanding.

She whispered them again, more sure this time. “You didn’t know, that he had died. You thought--”

“That he had rid his home of a murderer in the quietest and quickest way possible that also was the cleanest way to separate us and spare his daughter from more heartbreak? Because he knew, about you and I. As soon as he asked me not to tell you I was leaving or that he was helping me, I knew that he knew.”

“But you told me you were leaving anyways.”

“I told you anyways.” Flashes of that night came back to him now, less painful than the ones that came in the darkest parts of the night, blood- and tear-stained memories haunting him when he was at his weakest.

“He would’ve come for you,” she said in a quiet but firm voice. “If he had lived, he would have kept his word.”

Bellamy couldn’t help letting out a doubting laugh. He heard Clarke straighten next to him.

“Bellamy, he would’ve. After you left, he was the one advocating for a more thorough investigation, especially after we knew Wells’ father would live. He was the one who interviewed your mother, your sister, the guards on duty that night.” She paused. “He never gave up on you.”

Her words and his deeply ingrained doubts clashed in his chest, making it feel tight, like a metal band was being cinched around him. It was only when he felt her hand slip tentatively into his that air filled his lungs again, the pain he had held onto for far too long finally receding.

“Once you stopped waiting, what did you do?” She asked quietly.

“It was either stay on land and starve, or join a crew. The only captain willing to take on someone as inexperienced as me was Charles Pike.”

He resisted turning to look at Clarke when she made a small noise of indignation, disgust, and sympathy. Captain Pike was known far and wide for his ruthlessness. He gave no quarter to captured ships; he rarely took survivors. Sometimes Bellamy still wondered what had made Pike stop on that dusky night on the street, look him up and down, and tell him to find his quartermaster the next morning. During his two years on that ship, he had seen other brief glimpses of Pike’s underbelly. Still, all the blood he spilled--they spilled together--tended to blot those brighter spots in his memory out.

“We don’t accept his goods in Arkadia,” Clarke said sharply.

“He taught me what I needed to know to survive,” Bellamy snapped back. Clarke sighed beside him in understanding. More softly, he explained, “Pike took me under his wing. I wouldn’t have gotten my own ship as fast as I did without him looking out for me, training me. But I--I didn’t want to be the type of captain he was.”

“Your reputation says otherwise.”

Bellamy smiled bitterly. “A reputation like that can be useful, but you should know better than anyone that a reputation rarely lives up to the reality.”

“I do know that,” she replied softly.

He finally looked at Clarke, and for the first time in a long time, he saw her, the girl he had fallen in love with. She maybe had a few more (many more) worry lines, but the hardness had left her eyes, instead replaced by a clarity and understanding that used to knock him flat with just one glance. Chin resting on his shoulder, his hazy gaze dropped to her lips. They were chapped but full, and Bellamy nearly groaned as the urge to reach over and knot his fingers through her hair to pull her in for a bruising kiss overwhelmed him.

Her eyes flicked from his down to this mouth then back up. “I do know you,” she whispered.

He leaned in as she arched up, and their mouths clashed in the middle. Cupping her head, he brought her in close, kissing her deeply, wetly, wantonly. She tasted like salt and rum, sweet and sharp. A heartbeat later, and his lips parted when her tongue asked permission. With a moan, he licked into her and she yielded to him. Bellamy yanked her over his lap, and her breath was hot against his cheek as he sucked and nipped his way down her neck.

She panted out his name when he ran his fingers down her sides harshly, greedily. Her own hands forced his head up and back by gripping his hair, and Bellamy stared up at her in heated awe. Her golden hair--turned white-gold under the dim light of the moon--was ringed by the stars above, and her eyes shone in stark, bright contrast to the night around them.

“I know you,” Clarke repeated. She pressed a kiss to each cheek, then his nose, and finally his mouth. “I know you.”

He kissed her again, barely pausing as they stood and stumbled their way to the stairs. The crew was still occupied with singing and drinking, but to be safe, they spaced out their descent to the quarters below. He waited behind, long enough to see Miller swing a glance his way and then smirk. Bellamy scowled back and then ducked inside. Heat shot down his spine and pooled at the base when he saw the door to his quarters cracked open, a sliver of candlelight glowing in the dark hallway.

When he pushed inside, he saw Clarke back-to and running her fingers down the spines of his small book collection. Her hair--loosened by his rough hands and now undone completely by hers--spilled down her back in a tangled mess. She didn’t turn when the door clicked shut behind him, but she did break the silence.

“You have books on a ship,” she commented in an amused tone.

“And?”

“What happens if the ship goes down?” She threw a look over her shoulder. “You lose your books.”

Bellamy spread his hands--which were itching to reach for her--against the rough grain of his door. “My ship isn’t going to go down.”

Clarke laughed, pulled out a book, flipped it over, and then put it back. “All captains say that.”

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, he raised his eyebrows in challenge. After a moment, she finally turned his way. Hands on her hips, she raised her brow right back. Seeing Clarke in his quarters, confident and teasing and at ease, made the heat inside him flare to life. It snapped him forward, and before she could take more than two steps towards him, he was kissing her again. His hands on her hips pressed her closer even as she was already arching into him, close as she could get. When she bit his lip, he panted in surprise.

Clarke took the opportunity to tug off his shirt. No sooner had she finished than he swiftly undid her bodice strings and divested her of her dress. Standing before him in just her chemise, Clarke leaned back, hands clutching his shoulders, and let him enjoy the view of her through the gauzy fabric.

“I’m not going to break,” she murmured teasingly as she rolled her hips into his.

He chuckled and then in one movement, Bellamy hauled her up into his arms and backed her into the bookshelf. He felt the soft, surprised exhale from her against his collarbone, but he caught the rest of it with a rough kiss. Clarke’s nails dug into his shoulder, and her fingers twisted into his hair. His gut twisted with pleasure, and she tugged his head to the side as she slid her tongue past his lips.

She kissed him rough, dirty, with skill and with intimacy, and with her breasts pressed tightly against his chest, Bellamy felt a needy haze come over her. As quickly as he had picked her up he dropped her again. His fingers skimmed her thighs--soft and strong--as he rucked up her chemise and took it off. Kissing his way down her neck, he felt her hands undoing his pants falter as he reached her breast. Clarke shuddered under him as he sucked her peak into his mouth, toying with her nipple using teeth and tongue.

He faltered, though, when she sighed out his name. Softly he pressed a kiss to her sternum, and he felt her breath catch. When Bellamy looked up, she had her eyes closed, or rather not just closed but squeezed shut. A flicker of apprehension grew inside him, because behind the pleasure in her expression was something else, something far less sweet. As if sensing his curiosity, she suddenly smiled and slid her hand inside his pants, stroking and caressing and driving his need back up.

“I need you,” she murmured against his collarbone. She kept whispering that, tauntingly, a little desperate once he slipped his hand between her thighs.

Fumbling to get his pants off, Clarke laughed and bit his earlobe. When she removed her hand--the loss of it against his cock making him choke a little bit--she shucked down his breeches and then pushed him towards the bed.

As she climbed over him, she smirked. “How are you at taking direction, captain?”

“‘Bout as good as you are, I bet,” Bellamy replied, hands resting behind his head. He stared up at her: bare, with a heated glint in her eyes, curls cascading down her shoulders. When she leaned forward and ran her hands over his chest, he had to fight to keep his breathing steading. He couldn’t keep his hands from flying to her hips, running over the skin there, over her ass, her arched back. He tried to think of something to say. They has so many years between them, so many stories to tell and hidden scars to reveal. It had been easier for him to show those to her than most, but even easier was this: kissing, touching, knowing how she kissed and sighed. Even after all these years, he knew her, knew what she had liked back then when they were just getting to know each other’s bodies.

Bellamy smiled when he heard the expected gasp after suddenly pressing his thumb hard against her clit. He was relentless, keeping pressure as he twisted his hand and slipped fingers into her wet folds. With each stroke her hips jerked, and her nails dug into his chest, scraping down just hard enough for him to feel their bite. As he continued to drive her to the edge, she did the same for him, fitting her hand around him firmly. Soon enough Clarke was lowering herself onto him--hot, wet, familiar. He thrust up into her as she rode him, their quiet moans mingling in the humid air of his room. With one last keening cry she came. She clenched around him, and suddenly her name was leaving lips in a hoarse pant as spent spent himself inside of her.

Clarke laughed out his own name as she collapsed onto his chest. Her skin stuck to his, overheated and damp with sweat. He cupped her head as she pressed a quick kiss to his chest.

“Would you be offended if I said how much better that was than the last time we did this?” Clarke murmured, a lightness in her voice that Bellamy felt melt into his very center.

“Considering we were both barely of majority, I’m with you on that.” He chuckled as he remembered how fumbling and stilted they used to be together. There had been still a sweetness, an overwhelming tenderness to coming together with her though that made it seem like the best thing on earth despite their inexperience. Bellamy swallowed as he realized that while he had gotten a taste of that back tonight in being with her, there was a pieced missing. Needy heat had filled that space earlier, but now, with Clarke sprawled over him, he could feel the tiny seed of hollowness at the core of them.

When she nuzzled in closer to him, though, he stopped thinking about the wall that was still between them. Exhaustion and the feeling of having her in his arms again pulled his mind back to the here, to the now, to the rocking of the ship and the feel of Clarke’s heartbeat against his chest.

Bellamy closed his eyes and held her tighter.


	9. Chapter 9

If Clarke thought the ship was small before, it felt even smaller now. Everywhere she turned there was Bellamy, smiling at her. Sometimes it was the sly grin of a pirate captain; other times it was a crooked half-smile that promised she’d be panting his name in some dark corner soon. Her favorites, though, were when she caught his eye and his lips curved up warmly for no apparent reason at all other than they were in each other’s line of sight.

Her breath would catch, and she’d have to remind herself that this--their shared goals, their shared space--was only temporary. They were working together to get the treasure so they could both go on to lead stable lives. And no matter how much Bellamy smiled at her, and no matter how much the sight of him whole and happy made her heart flutter, there were no guarantees that their paths would remain intertwined after this was all over.

It didn’t stop her from sighing when his hand brushed her lower back upon passing each other below deck, or from giggling as he brushed soft kisses along the back of her neck while they watched the stars from the stern of the boat. Clarke spent her nights giving and taking pleasure with him in his cabin, though she never stayed too long afterwards. Sometimes she could feel him tense as she slipped from his bed in the early hours of the morning. She wasn’t sure if she wished he would actually pull her back in and ask her to stay; she wasn’t sure what her answer would be if he did.

The closer they drew to the island, the more fiercely she kissed him and the longer she lingered in his arms each night. A few times in the breaths between their kisses, she could feel him hesitate, his lips parting as if to say something. She would just swoop into for another taste, or swivel her hips against his, setting fire to both his intentions to talk and their own desires again. Bellamy seemed to go along with it, whether out of a similar indulgence in ignorance or simply one in her own thinly-veiled wish to avoid doing much else but losing themselves in one another.

It was why it took her off guard one night, as his fingers traced idle shapes on her bare back afterwards, that Bellamy murmured, “What happens after?”

“After?” she echoed in a cautious tone.

“After we find the treasure.”

“We load it onto the ship. We go back to Arkadia. I save my home.”

His fingers stopped. “And me?”

She stared at the door of his cabin, cursing herself for not leaving as soon as she had caught her breath. “You’ll get your share of the treasure, of course.”

Immediately Bellamy shifted up, displacing her such that she finally had to look him in the eye. It startled her, that instead of seeing the expected wounded hardness in his face as he looked at her, there was just a weariness.

He just stared at her, as if waiting for her to say something else, to ask something else ( _come home, come home and stay with me_ ). Her pulse thudded in her ears, thoughts rushing as fast as her heart. She _wanted_ to say more and to ask that, and she didn’t too. She had asked him to stay once before, and he hadn’t. He had asked her to go with him once before, and she hadn’t. He wasn’t asking her to go with him now--she was sure that he knew better than to ask, knowing what she had at stake in Arkadia--but she also knew how much he loved his crew. They were his family, and despite knowing what Bellamy tasted like again after all these years, how it felt to have him come undone in her hands, she wasn’t brave enough to find out if his bond with her was enough to outweigh his love for them.

“It’s almost morning,” she finally said. “I should go.”

His lips pursed into a thin line as she slid from the bed, and he didn’t say a word as she slipped back into her dress and out the door.

Tears pricked her eyes by the time she returned to her quarters. Clarke let them out after crashing into her pallet, allowing them soak into the stiff fabric. It would be dawn soon, and with it came watchful eyes and responsibilities. For now, though, she could let her heart break wide open.

* * *

As Monty furrowed his brow at the island map on the table yet again, Clarke sighed and looked away. At first the offer to help him narrow down potential locations for the Tondisi treasure had been a welcome excuse to avoid Bellamy for the day. Now, however, as a more definitive search plan eluded them, their task was merely frustrating.

Stretching out her neck, she wandered around the cabin. Pacing hadn’t done much so far except make Monty fidget even more, but taking a more extensive walk would mean leaving the navigation room, and leaving the room meant potentially crossing paths with Bellamy. Clarke sighed and rubbed her temples.

“I think you may be more worried about this plan than I am now,” Monty laughed suddenly.

Clarke managed dry smile. “I mean, it’s not as if I have an entire settlement relying on my success or anything.”

“No pressure at all.” Monty grinned in return. “It’s probably time for a break, I suppose. And a break means food.”

She nodded, and then he was out the door to fetch them something to eat.

Clarke was looking down at the map when the door opened a few minutes later. Without looking up, she said, “That was quick.”

“Not Monty.”

Looking up, she saw one of Bellamy’s crew members, Echo, walking towards her. “Oh, sorry.”

Echo shrugged, glancing around the room and then down at the map. “Looks like you two are making progress.”

“Trying.” Clarke waited for her to say something else, to ask for Bellamy or Monty, but Echo just remained silent, moving towards the opposite side of the table. Her fingers brushed along the edge, as aimless as her gaze.

“Everything alright on deck?” she ventured after a few moments.

“There’s a storm coming in from the northeast, but we can easily avoid it.” Echo shrugged. “And the captain is a bit on edge today.” Then she shot Clarke a smug, knowing look. It was gone in a blink, however, and she wondered if she had imagined the calculating edge to it. Echo was staring at her still, though, and Clarke rolled her shoulders before moving away from table.

She peered out the small windows and noticed, as Echo had said, that there were ominous clouds off in the distance. Suddenly a flash caught her eye, and she squinted at the horizon. Gripping the sill, she leaned forward to see if she really had seen that wink of white, but then a loud clang startled her.

As she whipped around, she heard Echo swear under her breath and right a now empty cup of rum that Miller had left behind from the night before. Hurrying over, she helped mop up the mess. Between her and Echo, however, they managed to avoid any serious damage to the map and Monty’s spiky notes scribbled across it.

“Suppose I should get back on deck where I belong,” Echo laughed. “Before I almost destroy anything else.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not the first person who has done that,” Clarke replied kindly.

Echo’s grin was almost a little too sharp as she said, “So you won’t report me to Bellamy?”

“Monty is the one you probably should be worried about,” she managed to respond lightly.

With another rough chuckle, Echo dipped her head in farewell and left. Clarke had only a few moments to ponder the encounter before Monty returned with the usual haul of hard biscuits and dried meat.

They only managed a few bites away from the map before they were hovering over it again with food still in hand. Back and forth they went, sharpening their plan of attack bit by bit. They were both so ensconced that when muffled cries echoed down from the deck, they simply kept talking.

It was only when the door burst open and Miller rushed in that she and Monty were startled out of their planning.

“Sails on the horizon,” Miller panted out darkly.  
  
“Who?” Clarke demanded as Monty rushed out the door, no doubt to get Bellamy’s commands on how to proceed with navigating.

“Azgeda. They’ve been trailing us for who knows how long. Now they’re not hiding anymore, and they’re gaining.”

She and Miller exchanged a hard look, because having one of the most ruthless crews tailing them only meant one thing. Without a word, they both rushed out the door and onto the deck. It was mayhem as the crew of _The Scylla_ worked to prepare the ship for the race of their lives.

That was only a short term solution, though, because even if they reached the island first, Azgeda would be waiting for them upon their return with the treasure. Clarke took the stairs two at a time up onto the quarterdeck where Bellamy was shouting out orders.

“Fuckers,” he seethed upon seeing Miller and her. “Monroe spotted them a few hours ago, and they’re gaining. Fast.”

“So your plan is to outpace them? Running isn’t going to solve anything,” Clarke demanded.

Miller shifted tensely next to her, and Bellamy looked at her blankly. She winced in apology, because she hadn’t meant it like that; she did have faith that he would have a better plan.

His expression eased a bit, as if he understood, and then he simply said, “Monty?”

The navigator turned from a conversation with Harper and stepped closer to them. With a grim smile, he said, “ _That_ is our plan.”

Turning, Clarke followed the direction of Monty’s raised finger until she was looking into dark clouds and the slanting shadow of rain on the horizon. Sucking in a breath, she realized that the sails were being let out and extra cargo being dumped overboard to increase their speed, yes, but not because they were running _from_ something, but because they were running _to_ something.

“Fuck, I knew you were going to get me killed one day,” Miller muttered under his breath, and both Monty and Bellamy huffed out a laugh.

“You’re really going to bring us into the storm to get rid of Azgeda?” Clarke asked sharply, turning back to face Bellamy head on.

He tipped his chin up and replied, “I’m going to bring us _through_ the storm to get rid of Azgeda.”

It was an insane plan, but as Clarke noticed the fiercely determined glint in his eye, her gut settled with surety that he would do as he promised. He would bring them through that storm, through any crisis, because that was who Bellamy was.

So Clarke responded with a small smile, which he returned in kind. Her heart thrilled with fear and a dark kind of excitement as they both turned to take another look at the approaching storm together.

* * *

An eerie calm fell over _The Scylla_ once the sunlight dampened and mist began to soak the deck. It wouldn’t be long until they were in the throws of the raging storm, and Clarke gripped the rear railing as she stared back at Azgeda’s shrinking sails. It looked as if the rival crew weren’t brave--or stupid--enough to follow them into this danger.

She wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse about their plan. As she brushed damp curls away from her face, Clarke breathed deeply. They had made their choice, and now there was no turning back. The wind whipped her hair out of control again, and the rain was falling harder now. With a shiver, she finally turned from watching the choppy gray waves behind them and back to the main deck. It was time to find her place among the crew to make sure they survived this gamble.

Every hand was needed, and once the downpour came upon them in earnest, Clarke realized they just might be in over their heads. The ship pitched as waves broke over the sides, and the roaring winds made the sails snap and pulled ropes roughly from the crew’s hands. Her dress and her hair were plastered wetly against her chilled skin in no time. Still, she stuck it out, even when Bellamy had pulled her aside in a brief moment to tell to get below deck.

“You think my father didn’t train me to handle conditions like this?” she had cried over the noise of the storm.

Bellamy watched her carefully but eventually nodded in reluctant acceptance. He turned to go, but Clarke reached out, grabbed his hand, and squeezed. She saw his shoulders drop a bit, releasing tension at her reassuring gesture. Warmth flickered through her chest as he threw her a brief smile before getting back into the thick of steering them through this hellish storm.

She stayed on deck until even some of the most seasoned crew were running for cover. Just as she was about to head inside, she heard a panicked shout. Turning, she squinted through the sheets of rain. It wasn’t until the shout came again, faintly and from above, that she located who was calling.

One of the ship’s girls, Charlotte, was clinging to the rigging on the main mast, not moving and yelling out for help. Immediately Clark ran for the ropes, recognizing the terror in the girl’s tense posture. It was a precarious climb, and the muscles in her legs and arms were screaming from resisting the strong gales of the storm that were threatening to tear her off the rigging. When she reached the girl, she saw how she was trembling and her heart clenched in sympathy.

“I’m here!” Clarke shouted over the howling of the storm and the wooden groaning of the strained ship. “Charlotte, I’m here!”

The girl just continued sobbing, petrified into inaction. Clarke tried to reach a hand out to steady her, but the rigging rippled and she had to grab back on. Gritting her teeth, she blinked water out of her eyes as she tried to get Charlotte to look at her.

“Charlotte, look at me. We’ll climb down together. Please, Charlotte--”

Another gust came and buffeted them roughly. Charlotte screamed and Clarke swore, squeezing her own eyes shut and praying neither of them fell. Her stomach rolled nauseously as the mast shuddered, and she realized neither of them would last up here much longer.

“Look at me!” She shouted harshly at the girl. “Charlotte, I can’t help you climb down, but I can do it right beside you. I just need you to--”

“I can’t!” The girl sobbed. “I’ll fall! I can’t, I can’t--”

“Charlotte,” Clarke tried, but her own throat was closing up with fear. Her fingers were going numb from the chill of the rain and the stinging roughness of the soaked ropes. Trying to tamp down the panic rising inside of her, she started controlling her breathing as she searched for a plan, any plan.

She felt the ropes wiggle from below, and when she looked down (oh _hell_ , they were up high), she saw Bellamy climbing towards them. The grimness in his face was clear as he hoisted himself up on Charlotte’s other side.

“Grab onto me!” He shouted to the girl. It took a few more minutes of stern cajoling, but finally she grabbed onto the captain. With Charlotte clinging to his front and burying her face into the crook of his neck, he started his descent. Clarke swallowed in relief and made to follow them down. Her arms shook in protest, however, and her fingers were too stiff let go of her grip on the rope. Shock and desperation knifed through her, because as much as she tried to move her limbs, they wouldn’t unlock. Panic rose, choking her, until Bellamy’s voice cut through the wail of the storm.

“Don’t!” He shouted up at her. “Don’t move!”

She caught his intense gaze through the wind and rain as he stared at her in gravity and slight fear. “Bellamy, I can--”

“Clarke,” he pleaded in a hoarse cry. “You can’t. Just--just wait for me to help you. _Please._ ”

With a stiff nod, she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended the wetness streaming down her face was just rain and not tears. The time it took Bellamy to bring Charlotte to safety seemed to stretch and warp around her. Disoriented and growing more fearful with every snap of the sail and roar of the wind, Clarke decided she couldn’t wait.

Stiffly, she began shifting her way down the rigging. Her hands were so numb it was hard to tell if her changing grip was tight enough. More than once the netting moved out from under her foot before she had a good hold, and each time she nearly cried out at the loss. She had to keep moving, though. She couldn’t let fear paralyze her into place and leave her at the mercy of the wind and biting rain.

It wasn’t long, however, before she couldn’t correct one of her missteps. The wind stole the rigging out from under her feet, and her tingling hands were too weak to hold on. A scream ripped from her as she fell, but Clarke didn’t go far before a strong grip on her wrist halted her tumble. Once the world stopped spinning, she looked up to see Bellamy holding onto her as she dangled in the air. Scrambling, she tried to grab at the waving rigging. Bellamy grunted in pain but didn’t let his grip loosen as the storm tugged at the both of them. Eventually she regained her footing, this time letting Bellamy help her down.

No sooner had they stumbled onto solid ground again then the deck pitched underneath them. With shaking legs, Clarke ran for the cabins below, and Bellamy was right on her heels. She didn’t stop moving--or shivering--until they were in Bellamy’s quarters. Vaguely she realized she had come here on instinct, instead of heading to her own shared room with Monroe and Harper. She was too cold, too wet, and too rattled to think about it much though, especially as she realized Bellamy was back-to, hands braced on the door as he hunched in on himself, chest heaving unevenly.

Before she could say a word though, he turned around. There were no restraint in his eyes, just a burning that made her tremble in anticipation. He stormed towards her, and she was reaching for him by the time he swept her into his arms. His mouth came down, cold and hard, and she matched his desperate fervor with all the strength she had left. Pressed so close together, almost painfully so, the wet cloth of her dress rubbed with a painful sort of pleasure against her raw skin. Bellamy nearly tore the soaked fabric from her, and she did the same right back to him. She had never _wanted_ him so badly, needed to feel his beating heart under her fingertips, to know that both of them were alive, and together, and could be as one.

Hands sought bare skin greedily, tongues slipping messily past salt-caked lips and teeth nipping this curve and that. They didn’t even make it to the bed right next to them. In a ragged breath, Bellamy had her laid on on the floor, hands roughly palming her breasts as she raked nails down his back. There was no coaxing, no teasing, just her knees opening impatiently and his hot length pushed into her slick wetness with a delicious roughness.

She cried out, the friction and pressure striking through her like lightening. Her back bowed and she gasped, causing Bellamy to pause. When he tried to lift himself off of her, though, she locked her legs around him. Forcefully gripping his chin to get his attention, she rasped, “Do not stop. Please, don’t stop.”

He let out a ragged breath and then claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss. One hand gripped her hip tightly as she canted up eagerly. Bellamy began rutting into her again, and she matched the needy rhythm just as fiercely. He used his other hand to skim her ribcage, brushing the side of her breast, cupping her neck, her jaw, then ran up her arm to clasp her hand in his. His fingers flexed as she felt him swell inside of her. It stole away her breath until all she could manage was stilted, breathy cries of pleasure as he continued to thrust into her. His own pants against the crook of her neck sent burning spirals over her skin, down her limbs, deep into her bones and very core until she was pulled taut like the sails in the wind on the deck above them.

He was a storm breaking over her, and she was strong enough to not only withstand him, but break over him in turn. As she felt her pleasure peak, she slipped her hand between them and circled her clit. Her walls fluttered, Bellamy groaned, and then she was choking out his name is a sharp whine as she shattered.

Only a few moments later, he came apart as well and collapsed on top of her. She shivered, he shuddered, and they both lay there in a daze. It took her a bit to realize he was whispering her name.

“Clarke.” A pause. “Clarke.” A breath. “Clarke.”

She looked down at him, but he didn’t raise his head. He just skimmed his nose back and forth across the top of her left shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone every now and then. As he just continued to murmur her name over and over again, she felt her heart (and want, and need, and fear, and hope, and _love_ ) rise up in her throat.

“Bellamy,” she choked out, and the rawness of her voice was finally enough to make him jerk up to meet her gaze.

His freckled face blurred before her as tears filled her eyes, his name still tumbling uncontrollably from her lips. “Bellamy, Bella--Bellamy. Bell...Bel--”

“Hey,” he breathed. “Hey, hey.”

A sob left her, a bittersweet one, and she smiled as his thumbs brushed away the tears sliding down her windburned cheeks. Her arms slipped around his neck to bring him back down to her bare body, making a cradle of her thighs.. She couldn’t bear to have space between them, not when his hand around her wrist had been the only thing keeping her from falling to her death tonight (not when her weight could have pulled him down too). Clarke clung to him, and he gripped her waist gently but firmly. She could feel him breathing her in, exhaling deeply every so often and in a pained way that let her know he also was thinking how much they could’ve lost tonight.

Clarke didn’t know how long they lay there on the hard wooden floor before moving into the bed. She did know that right before she drifted off under his sheets and in his arms, she managed to very quietly whisper, “I love you.”

Sleep claimed her before she could hear his reply.

* * *

She woke the next morning alone and to a calmly rocking ship. Blinking away the drowsiness, she sat up in bed and immediately groaned in pain. Every muscle was beyond sore, and she hissed at the uncomfortable stretch and pull at her sore spots as she dressed. Once she had made herself look somewhat presentable, Clarke cautiously stuck her head out of Bellamy’s door. No one was in the hall, and so she slipped out and headed for the deck.

It was an immensible relief to feel the sun on her face again, and she felt herself smiling as she looked around. The storm had done damage to _The Scylla_ , but nothing irreparable from what she could see. She had barely managed to walk much further out before Harper came running up to her excitedly.

“Did you see?” She chattered. “Did you see it?”

Apparently Clarke’s startled look was enough of a denial because Harper merely grabbed her wrist and tugged her to the port railing.

“Look!” she exclaimed with glee, leaning out over the edge and pointing. “Look!”

Indeed, Clarke looked and a thrill ran through her as just around the tip of the ship’s hull she saw green.

“Land?” she laughed.

“Land,” Harper confirmed with a satisfied grin.

Clarke laughed again, breaking out into a bright smile herself because her faith had been rewarded. Bellamy had indeed led them away from Azgeda and through the storm, and finally the treasure--and the stable future her father had wanted for Arkadia--was now almost within her grasp.


End file.
